


Why do you build us up (to crumble and fall)

by bluegrass



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angelic Lore, Cherubim Harry Potter, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Gen, Guardian Angels, Harry Potter Raises Tom Riddle, Light Angst, Morally Ambiguous Characters, Possessive Behavior, Riddle at Hogwarts Era, Tom Riddle is his own warning tag, Young Tom Riddle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:55:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24405385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluegrass/pseuds/bluegrass
Summary: Tom's newest guardian doesn't seem very bright, but he does seem powerful.Harry also sheds - a lot - being some sort of animal shapeshifter, and it's rather eye opening for Tom when it'shimwho has to hit his guardian on the nose with a goddamn newspaper for stashing food underneath the bed.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 9
Kudos: 175





	1. Chapter 1

**I.**

It had started, like with all things, as another one of the Lord’s fickle projects.

Earth had been a particularly long project, if Harry recalled properly. He’d only been down there thrice, and had certainly not stayed long enough to have lost any love for its creations when he left, but the Lord still looked down upon the planet fondly until this day for reasons Harry couldn’t comprehend.

In regards to Harry’s position as a Cherubim, glorified gatekeeper and guard – this must be emphasised greatly – that was supposed to be about the extent of Harry’s knowledge regarding Earth. Period. Because the gates of Heaven didn’t visibly exist in the mortal world anymore, and the Garden of Eden had been moved ages ago.

Earth wasn’t any of his business. And although Harry had raised all sorts of mischief and partially unintentional trouble when he was younger, he’d outgrown it for quite a while already. Harry knew how to keep to himself now, simply contenting himself with the company of his best mates, Ron and Hermione and the occasional Draco, as he shuts himself in his quarters as long as socially acceptable for someone of his position and rank.

As of an hour ago, Harry was about to become very intimately acquainted with the Lord’s precious blue marble in a jewel box of many other similar marbles, but this one not large enough to fit Harry in his true, angelic form. Which should be illegal, by the way, if it weren’t for the fact that the Lord had personally delivered the order.

It must be known that Harry had a flash of a temper that came as fast as it went, in addition to his less than impeccable control. That said, it was poor game to place him anywhere near Earth, because what if he accidentally let loose? Allowed his heavenly aura to break through from its moral confines, consequently cracking the Lord’s precious marble, just because someone snatched a treacle tart from him without asking first?

(Happened before, much to Draco’s following horror. Considering Harry had blown his shit in Draco’s _home_ , that’d teach him to steal Harry’s food despite knowing his animalistic faces gave him a tendency to be particularly possessive over his food, unnecessary to their self-sustaining bodies or not.)

He’d explained this pleadingly to the Lord, the Almighty Creator, maker of Heaven and Earth, and _coincidentally,_ unquestioned ruler of a whopping four hundred million angels. Surely, there had to be _someone_ from the Third Sphere or Second Sphere – an Archangel, a Guardian Angel, a Virtue, anybody else really – to take his place.

Cherubim were a safety hazard, for Earth’s sake. And this mission was way below his pay grade if he had one. Hermione hadn’t thought so, the traitor – in regards to the safety hazard thing, because Harry didn’t dare reveal his opinions on below pay-grades. She didn’t tolerate callously elitist words even if he didn’t mean it.

Either way, Hermione could deny it all she liked, but she went downstairs way too frequently to speak objectively on the matter at hand.

“This literally cannot be happening. I’d get pissed over some petty thing and end the world. I was at headquarters the other day and Dean was on about the humans going through another world war? _Another_ one? It’s like the Lord _doesn’t_ know I get trigger happy around these things.”

Hermione hid a grimace, and it was a fat chance Harry would miss it. They’ve known each other since the beginnings of time.

“I agree that your control may be… a cause for concern,” the Principality said carefully, leaning forwards in her seat in a way Hermione simply _did_ when she was trying to persuade Harry into listening to her. “But humans aren’t so bad, Harry. The science alone they’ve figured out on their own for the betterment of their lives, it’s all quite fascinating you’ll find.”

Some hundreds of years ago, Harry distinctly remembered Hermione conspiring the death of a certain group of humans who thought cracking an actual hole in their skulls would allow the Fallen – _demons_ – to escape their human hosts, thus healing whatever mental illnesses they’d considered abnormal. Harry arched a brow.

“When they’re not using it for war,” Hermione hastily added.

“That’s not really the problem though is it?” Ron, who was shovelling food in his mouth in a messy manner that had Draco complaining one too many times he couldn’t believe they shared the same rank of Dominion, said bluntly and utterly without tact.

Hermione elbowed him, giving him a pointed look. Harry himself stifled a groan and rubbed his hand over his face. Consider it a perk or curse from being friends for over a billion years, but of course they’d see through Harry’s shallow complaints and excuses the moment it left his mouth. It’d be nice if they pretended to agree though.

But Ron wasn’t wrong. Safety wasn’t truly the issue. After years of trial and error, Heaven was contractually obligated to provide a body that prevented that sort of thing. Harry wouldn’t be sealed from forbidden completely from his powers, but the mortal body he’d be given would regulate any ‘heavenly issues’ for as long as it was before its expiry date of a hundred years.

“You can’t just hole yourself up in here your whole life after one mistake mate,” Ron said, sounding much too knowing.

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” was Harry’s chosen defence, unable to help peeking from the gap between his fingers, wondering if it’d be rude to turn into his avian form and hurl himself outside his flat’s window. At least he still went to work after that bloody shameful incident; he’d just been avoiding every mandatory mortal trial thereafter, that’s all.

He was feeling plenty judged at the moment. Which should be a sin, Harry thought sulkily. Emmanuel would be more understanding. The guy was an actual saint among the heavenly. He’d certainly be more sympathetic to Harry’s reluctance to go to Earth after a bunch of humans he’d spent years trying to instil proper morals into nailed him on a cross for his efforts.

He may’ve spaced out for a bit thinking about Emmanuel’s kind eyes and understanding ears. The random flit of thought jumping to the utter drama humans got up to whenever a semblance of peace settled. Always so busy trying to entertain themselves that they don’t realise it.

Free will and intelligence was simultaneously the best and worst thing to give mortals.

“Harry? Harry. Hadraniel!” Hermione’s calling of his full name wrenched back his attention. Her rich brown eyes were scanning him thoroughly from head to toe, as though looking for a specific something.

He didn’t want to know what went on in her pretty mind. What was there to see but him sprawled like a boneless thing on the couch, his ratty shirt rolled up that left his stomach exposed. Not to mention how his socks were mismatched and he notably wasn’t wearing any pants. 

Her expression softened, and Harry cringed because it meant she found what she wanted to see and it was something pity-worthy. Harry recognised that face, it was the face that meant whatever was seen, he didn’t mean to show on purpose.

“You haven’t actually told us what the Lord asked you to do on Earth,” she reminded gently, cupping the mug of steaming hot chocolate in her hands. Ron nodded, slurping the last of his pasta; “Right,” he agreed emphatically, “We still don’t know what the Boss-man, er, Boss-lady? What’s the Lord going with this week – what your order is exactly.”

“Boss-lady,” Harry mumbled helpfully, head tilted towards the ceiling. The Lord had chosen quite a plain face this time, leaning towards homely almost. With olive skin, bright hazel eyes, and a heart-shaped freckled face shaped by voluminous curly dark hair. 

Thoughtful decisions were something Harry would prefer to leave to someone wiser than him. It wasn’t currently an option. He wanted to tell them, he wanted to not tell them. Going through it in his head again, his unwillingness to go seemed kind of lame, actually.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be as bad as Harry first imagined. What was the worst that could happen? Human lifespan tended to feel like a quick nap. The Lord couldn’t have been vaguer about the details but that hadn’t been anything unusual.

It was tempting to blame Draco for his occasional flair for the dramatics. Maybe Ron had a point, though, Harry shouldn’t let one mistake stop him. And in Hermione’s predictable and not yet said well-meaning advice, stop skipping mandatory exercises in case someone found out and what if he was demoted, or worse, _expelled?_

Was expulsion even an option for Cherubim? Supposedly, they were specifically designed for their jobs instead of having to work the way up like those in the Second Sphere and below. However, Harry was aware one’s powers could be taken away as punishment or have their rank temporarily revoked... he wasn’t quite sure on the inner-working however, since he’d not faced consequences like such before. 

Honestly, one would think he’d gotten his shit together by now, but nope, Harry was as much of a disaster as he was when the Lord told him to assist Moses and then he’d gone as fucked up spectacularly by making the guy cry his heart out from fear instead.

Harry pulled one of the decorative pillows towards him. Well-loved and used, despite its original purpose of simply sitting there and _“looking pretty. Like you, Harry” –_ according to Draco. The Dominion had been the one to gift it to Harry during house warming and Harry had curled his lip distastefully at first because the design was pretentious in ways he couldn’t explain.

He used it so often nowadays he’s almost forgotten why he hated it in the first place. It was soft and springy and the cover was as silken as an angel’s wings. Harry hugged the pillow so tightly its shape warped into one of an hourglass.

The soft impatient rustle of Hermione’s wings was all it took for him to finally admit, somewhat embarrassed, “Watch over a boy.”

“You what?” Ron got up from the dining table and plopped on the couch, taking Harry’s feet and putting them on his lap as he scooted closer. Hermione stayed where she was, likely still nursing her hot chocolate. For whatever reason, the Principality downed coffee like it was a competition but sipped sweet beverages like it was water in a desert.

“I’m on guardian angel duty, Ron,” Harry said, sounding slightly lost. He felt like it certainly. Ron looked taken aback, frowning slightly with his fingers pinching his chin as he murmured, “That’s not right…”

The Cherubim shot up _. Exactly._ “Right?! I couldn’t believe it either. What do I know about taking care of another human being? Nothing. And this one’s a _child,_ ” he hissed, “I don’t know shit about being a guardian. I can barely guardian myself, much less another! I’ll actually be damned if I kill him by accident.”

“Hey, but you and Moses are totally cool now. You technically took care of him fine back then. I don’t suppose he still runs every time he sees you on the opposite street?”

“No,” Harry said, frowning. “And yes, he was fine in the end but not before the Lord called me daft and tanned my hide. Not literally, mind, I don’t think I told you two fully?”

“Honest mistake, happens to most of us; and nope, save the details for another day.” Ron clapped a companionable hand on Harry’s shoulder, “Besides, falling won’t be so bad for you, Harry. _Everyone_ knows you shacked up with Satan when you two shared rooms before he fell. The bloke loves you! Ginny exchanges pictures of your nudes with him all the time when she’s in Hell.”

He wasn’t gaping. “She what?”

Ron made a vague gesture in the air. “There’s a whole… fan club, and everything.”

“There’s _what?!_ ” Harry screeched, flailing, “You know what, I’m just going to pretend you didn’t say what you did. And see if I tell you anything about my sex life anymore. I regret everything.”

“Sure.” It was difficult, but Harry resisted the urge to punch Ron’s smug face in. “So who’s the boy you gotta watch over?” the Dominion then asked, needling, “C’mon, don’t be stingy, give us a name. What makes this kid so important he needs a First Sphere to play babysitter?”

Hermione shook her head, fond of their antics despite her exasperated sigh. “That’s right, Harry, it’s all rather unusual. I hate to call out the unfairness of Heaven’s _ranking system,_ ” and the Principality said the word with a huff born from a long time opinion she held strong feelings for, “but humans just don’t _have_ Cherubim behind their backs. Moses had played quite the role and even then you were with him for less than a year. I’m assuming you’re to stay with the boy for as long as he lives?”

Harry nodded, slumping like all his energy was drained from him. “Tom Marvolo Riddle,” he rolled the name around in his mouth, tasting it like a cuisine he was trying for the first time and wasn’t sure what to make of it. Bitter, maybe.

“I wasn’t told much,” admitted Harry, “The Lord told me ‘take care of him. Be kind, I trust you.’ Look,” he pushed Ron’s feet off him and got up to walk towards Hermione, conjuring Riddle’s file onto the table.

“Born 1926 in Wool’s Orphanage, London,” Hermione read out loud, “Magical? _Oh,_ Harry. Guardianship open for interpretation – honestly, couldn't our Lord spend a second to be a little more specific?” The complaint was without heat. “He’ll be ten by the end of 1936’s December I believe. You’re descending next week?”

“Unfortunately. I did some research, so I know quite a bit about Earth’s magic system. Which would be better, you think, joining Riddle as an orphan or adopting him as an adult?”

“I reckon you’d better go as an adult, Harry,” Ron piped up. “More independence that way, and you could introduce yourself as a wizard to explain yourself when you slip. You’re terrible at keeping your powers unchecked during meals.”

“That was one time,” Harry smiled wryly, “but thanks for the vote of confidence, _Ragnvaldr._ ”

Ron pulled a face. “Gross. Stop it, I haven’t been called that since I was an Authority and you know I hate it when you butcher my name – I’m just doing my job as your best friend.”

“I agree with Ron,” said Hermione, eyes flitting over the information compiled into the thin folder. “Riddle’s bound for Hogwarts once he turns eleven and you could watch over him as a teacher then. Ron and I won’t mind dropping by sometimes if you need any help.”

Hermione passed the file to Ron who’d gotten up and walked over a minute after Harry. His expression was curious, soon crinkling into one of amusement the longer he spent reading the provided information. “Kid looks like you, mate. He could pass off as your son,” he joked, grinning widely, “You’re a dad, Harry!”

In response, the Cherubim punched him in the arm. He hoped it bruised.

“ _Boys._ I’ll send you a list of flats or houses or manors you could pick out from tomorrow morning. I’ve been to Wizarding London before, so I know most of the best places that won’t startle you too much.”

His smile actually reached his eyes this time. “Thanks, ‘mione,” Harry said, much sincerer than with Ron.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back again with my HP bullshit. I don't even know, I've just been reading quite a lot of HP fics lately when this came up.
> 
> (If you wish to know more about the angel hierarchy I'm kind of referencing/following, [click here.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hierarchy_of_angels) It's Wikipedia, but hey. Also, the fic title is based off the song: _Who am I_ by Besomorph and RIELL)
> 
> Stay safe and strong everyone. Leave a comment and Kudos if you liked this! They make my day!


	2. Chapter 2

**II.**

Reluctant to the nines, Harry had left to Earth on schedule; Hermione, Ron, and Draco were the ones to see him off, a worried expression tight on the Principality angel, an amused smile smug on Ron’s, and hilariously, a confused press of lips on Draco. Among the three, it was quite clear that Draco had only come because in a careless word, and he actually knew nothing of Harry’s descent down to Earth in which he’d formerly avoided like the plague. 

Harry patted the blond’s shoulder. “Looks like we won’t be eating any snails this week,” he said, and chuckled at Draco’s affronted gasp. It was mostly fortunate he’ll have to miss Draco’s promised dinner in a new restaurant recently opened in Heaven Centre. “Excellent service,” the Dominion shared proudly the other day, “inspired by French cuisine from Earth.”

“Again, ferret?” bemoaned Ron.

“You should be singing me bloody praises during thanksgiving _,_ weasel,” Draco scoffed, ignoring Ron’s quiet, “I’ll be singing something _bloody_ alright.” The fair-headed angel then stabbed a wing at Ron’s direction, “Daphne and Astoria are the owners of this restaurant and good friends of mine, so you _will_ sit through the entire course without complaining or God _help me-_ ”

Harry wasn’t fond of overly strange foods to be honest; he much preferred desserts with a sour tang, or Asian food, the simple ones. While on the other hand, Draco loved most things European and especially French; he took every opportunity to claim credit where the country was due. He’d gone undercover there once upon time, made a mark, so Harry was told by the accompanying Pansy, and was unbearable ever since. 

Nobody liked mentioning France around Draco. It was his baby he never tired from speaking of; given the opportunity, he could go hours upon hours of his adventures in France which everyone knew more than twice over in vivid detail by now. 

Draco refused to pull all stops, and Harry was cursed with the conditioned response of gagging because Draco’s stories also included his weirdly obsessive paramours who’d not appeared as such to Draco for some reason. The type of people the blond attracted… belonged to the questionable sort.

“Don’t forget to write!” Hermione waved enthusiastically, “Call if you need anything. We’ll be down in a jiffy!”

“Good luck, mate,” Ron said, an arm around Hermione’s waist. “You’ll need it.”

“Harry,” Draco’s ranklement was almost comedic. It reminded Harry of a pissed off cat. “Why wasn’t I informed of this decision to Earth? Hadraniel! I deserve an explanation!” he demanded, and Harry quite guilty hearing the underlying hurt in his words. 

Harry drew him into a full-bodied hug because Draco liked that kind of thing. “Sorry, Draco, but you were up to the nose with work. There wasn’t time to let you in the know. Hermione and Ron can tell you everything. Promise I’ll write.”

“Cherubim’s honour,” Draco muffled into his shoulder, hugging Harry back tighter than usual. Harry smiled into his platinum blond hair; “Cherubim’s honour,” he promised.

Harry had landed at the edge of London, where there sliced a delicate space for a rural town surrounded by beautiful stretches of field decorated with patchwork wildflowers and a sparse scattering of trees. The skies weren’t the brightest, nor clearest Harry had seen, but it seemed alright so far. 

When he finally made his way where his charge lived, Harry’s first impression of Wool’s Orphanage was that it looked like the kind of place the Lord had looked over by accident. 

Uh. So, _that_ wasn’t alright. 

A glimpse of insight, not necessarily good or bad, but certainly leaning towards unkind implications: even the drabbest building in Hell looked a lot livelier than the cold-coloured building paned with musty windows. Sided by two spanning wings that formed a mockery of a shelter meant to be open and welcoming.

Plenty brighter too, if Harry was being particularly nit-picky. Although to start with, London in general seemed to be cursed by blanket greys and an air of bone-piercing chill (or maybe it was just the winter showing) that seemed to suck the life and warmth out of people. He couldn’t imagine anyone living here and not feel the effects of depression form a rain cloud above their heads.

There was just something in the atmosphere, something tense, something weary, something resigned - even more so than usual, because Harry had an inkling for these things as an angel in charge of record and protection. In another time, maybe, love and laughter and life could be felt bursting from within.

Then he remembered, the humans were hinting at having their second world war, weren’t they? The former bell tower built to be visible from at least three streets away was quite the morbid reminder for all children and parents alike. Always present, the possibility of what could happen should a war officially commence – to leave here a son or daughter, the aftermath of the misfortune and sometimes unavoidable failure of a parent.

What a terrible way to start one’s day once they’re out the door. Ten over ten would hesitate to recommend. 

Harry stood before the gloom-and-doom glory and took a deep, smoke-filled breath. His heart clenched and his stomach churned, reminding himself on repeat he couldn’t afford to let doubt settle so late in. Riddle had looked like quite the intelligent child from his profile picture, and last he heard, children were frightening creatures capable of smelling fear.

Harry zipped up his awkwardness and second thoughts, stuffed them snug and tight inside his person as though his mortal suit had such a function. He clenched his teeth, looking upwards in prayer, and proceeded to march in bravely. _Have faith, Harry,_ he encouraged himself. A hundred years was like a nap. A very active nap where his eyes were forced open, but still bound to go by quickly.

Taking one last look at the font of WOOL’S ORPHANAGE twisted into the gate’s rusty dark metal at the bell-like top, he pushed the right gate forwards and it opened with an ear-splitting screech.

Oiling the thing was obviously the last thing on the list during trying times. Harry’s shoulders automatically hunched as he cursed his sensitive hearing. When he looked down at his hand, it was coated with sticky residue. Although he was by no means knowledgeable in the science of medicine, Harry was relatively sure lives were on the line if an open wound ever made contact with the gate.

Good God, it was like they _wanted_ to kill off potential adopters.

Harry straightened his charcoal grey coat at the door, his outfit something he conjured into existence with a snap. He didn’t know where Hermione found the time, but she’d actually binded a book from scratch about basic human fashion and etiquette for him.

Humans had no wings, so displaying them in greeting was out of the question apparently.

Harry knocked on the old wood of the door, ears attuned to the loud footsteps running to answer. “Just a moment, please!” a familiar voice said, clear in face of his enhanced sentence.

Wait. He was forgetting something. Shit. No, it was a good thing she was here.

The door swung open – 

Coming to view was a pair of striking blue eyes like Ron’s. Ginny stood by the doorway, dressed in a humble dress layered with a stained apron that had seen better days. Harry pulled the corners of his mouth up by sheer force of will, “Hello.”

Surprise was clear on her face and thick in her vowels, “Harry! Heavens above, did you finally get demoted?!”

The tension immediately flooded out of him, replaced by a newfound wave of confusion. Demoted? Him - _finally?!_ Finally, she said. Why was it even said like an inevitability? “What.” Harry drew back slightly, offended, all thoughts about asking Ginny about the details on Riddle that weren't on paper forgotten. 

Okay, first of all, Harry took _pride_ in his achievement of having never allowed whatever or whoever that shouldn’t be in wherever he was in charge of trespass. Draco had France, Harry had his strength and work ethics. He’d rivalled Satan – then Samael – in battle for goodness sake. The audacity.

“What do you mean demoted?” he hissed, eyes narrowing, “I’m bloody good at my job and the Lord sure as hell knows that. And tell Satan I’ve not forgotten how to smite his perfect arse six ways to Sunday for agreeing to share my nudes with you.”

Harry showed just a bit of teeth, “That extends to you too, Ginny.”

Ginny’s eyes curved and she looked elated at the threat. Just the _teeth_ in her grin was a slight against her rank as a Virtue. Her stance was bold and domineering, arms crossed over her chest as she stood like she was receiving her Virtue’s armour for the first time, absolutely guilt-free at being caught.

“I’m sure we wouldn’t mind, Harry,” her voice turned husky, downright sinful and Harry made an indignant sound from the back of his throat. “Satan’s told me that the fuck after is to _fall_ for.”

Heat rushed its way upwards; Harry felt his face _burn._ “Ginevra! Think about Luna!”

“My darling angel would be ecstatic to watch,” the Virtue said confidently, watching Harry sputter uselessly, scandalised, as mirth and mischief danced in her gaze.

It eventually faded, replaced with warm affection and melancholy when she glanced to the side and caught the long, dimly lit hallway in her peripheral vision. Both of them were forced to remember where they were. Why they were here. At the steps of Wool’s Orphanage, where children had a higher chance of experiencing Tetanus than adoption.

Evening out his emotions, Harry matched her sombre expression with his own.

There needn’t be questions between them. There was a reason Harry was here. A reason all angels shared as servants of the Lord. “Tell me the name of your charge, Cher.” Ginny asked softly, though she looked like she already knew.

Cher, for Cherubim. God, it’s been years since he last saw her. Harry had missed his warrior sister in shared grace. Her mission on Earth busied her enough that he only heard from her once a year. Harry used to hang out on a bi-monthly basis with Ginny, Ron, Hermione and Draco – the venue choice rotating per angel. 

Time sort of moved differently when they were together, more obviously when they were apart. So Harry’s tolerance for a hundred years had double standards, he didn’t mind. 

“Tom Riddle,” Harry said, feeling resolve steel at the base of his spine.

“A bloody _Cherubim_ for a guardian angel,” Ginny breathed, an almost unnoticeable hitch curling at the edge of her words. Whether from disbelief or awe, Harry didn’t know, but her gaze on him was as sharp as knives and uncharacteristically reluctant. The odd mesh threw Harry off guard for a moment, lodging a lead piece in his gut.

She tilted her head inwards, indicating for him to follow. “I’ll bring you the adoption papers in the office. Got any questions before the both of you meet?”

“What’s he like?” Harry asked, dodging a pair of skinny-faced children chasing each other down the corridor. Ginny warned after them, “No running in the halls!” before answering him in a tone he had trouble identifying. It was too controlled, for one.

“Hopeful.” At the first word, Harry’s mood naïvely lifted, only to sink in record speed as Ginny continued – “Eager, ambitious, vindictive, _desperate_. Like the Fallen when Heaven first casted them out.”

Oh no, Harry numbly thought. And he’d believed things were going to be alright. Fine print was utter bollocks but Harry was very damned aware of the extra note the Lord had added on the file at the last minute. _Teach him to be good,_ it said, resembling an afterthought that had Harry decidedly concerned.

By rule of thumb, humans were blank slates, each scale balanced just right between good and evil in the beginning. Harry had assumed Riddle’s scale to perhaps be a little more inclined to the latter. Nothing out of the world, if a little uncommon. 

He was right and wrong at the same time; because by Ginny’s twisted expression, Tom was going to be a difficult, _special_ case to raise to be _good_ in a traditional sense. Plus, knowing the Lord’s blessed attention on specific mortals addressed by name, ‘good’ may also imply a desire for Tom to enter the gates of Heaven. 

Was it? Harry stewed in his uncertainty. He was going into this blind!

Harry wanted to cry a bit, maybe pluck his feathers just imagining the oncoming stress. Earth was starting to feel like it was created to mark a blight on his otherwise flawless record. His dastardly strong sense of responsibility would probably drive him to fulfil his mission as close to perfection as possible too – which meant he’d feel terrible if he held the impression of failing.

Ginny gently pushed Harry inside the room that smelled strongly of alcohol and perfume and sweat, pungent enough to have him scrunching his nose. “I know you’re here for Riddle, but it’s protocol I call in all the children up for adoption for the parent to get a look at.”

“Why?”

“Gives everyone an opportunity for a new life,” Ginny explained, looking like she was resisting rolling her eyes as clearly remembered something unpleasant. She was re-entering the corridor when she paused to glance at him briefly, “You’re a wealthy donor, Harry. Cough up some cash for the starving children before you leave, alright?”

“What’s a little miracle in these trying times,” Harry grinned easily. He waved her off, allowing genuine nerves to leak through, “Now shoo, I need to mentally prepare myself.”

“Always so cunning for the strangest of things,” teased Ginny, shaking her head, “You could always say please y’know. It’s no offense to my mighty angelic sensibilities. Lord knows the scent of sin here is horrible. May as well change out the old furniture, Cher, I bet Mrs. Cole wouldn’t even notice if the office turned inside-out. She’s hardly the paragon of sober these days. Thanks to yours truly.”

“Oh shut up. I’m giving you the benefit of doubt.” He cocked his head, playfully scoffing in a splendid imitation of Draco, “Mrs. Cole must adore you, Satan’s partner in crime.”

“Please. She _loves_ Riddle, duh. And feel free to cleanse and purify this unholy circle, oh great Cherubim.” Ginny gave a mock bow, finally spinning to leave and gather the children. Harry couldn’t help the warmth spreading throughout him. He really did miss her.

By virtue of his true form, Harry was a thoughtful mix of animalistic instincts and wisdom like all Cherubim were. Thus, he gave himself a prediction of approximately fifteen minutes to sweep over the waiting office to cleanse its taint and replace the leather couch as Ginny had implicitly given permission to. In the end, he had ten minutes to spare that he used for thinking. 

He didn't need to strain his ear to easily catch the sounds of excited footfalls scrambling to gather outside the office in a line. The content of the words has him shifting uncomfortably, feeling guilty for reasons he’ll investigate with a six-feet pole.

“Sister Ginny says he’s rich. That says he’ll have plenty of food at home, right?” The children’s hushed whispers, nervous but hopeful, easily faded into the background as Harry pushed aside the guilt and trudged up a last minute plan on interacting with Riddle for the first time. 

Between work and researching how to purchase a property on Earth and the like, he hadn’t much time to consider the reality of living with another thinking being similar to him, much younger and furthermore reliant on him for guidance and nurture. Harry had experience leading armies on account of several great wars that had broken out between Heaven and Hell, but it wasn’t quite the same. 

Ginny had likened him to the Fallen right after they fell, still immortal because the Lord allowed for it, though easier to hurt but granted a great deal more freedom in their actions. Harry’s pulse quickened at the memory until today – it had been a troubling time for everyone except the Lord. Having Fallen didn’t mean one’s divinity was stripped, simply compromised, and the Lord had been noticeably silent as always. 

Love thy enemy, yet former lovers and friends sneered and glared and flared their wings in hatred at one another. Much to the angels’ chagrin – because Harry hadn’t asked Satan what it was like on the Fallen’s side once they were dropped unceremoniously into a foreign underworld – it was annoyingly punishing to find balance between heaven and hell’s petty flocks at first.

Between the blurring lines of hate and love smeared in fresh betrayal, spats had broken out, predictably resulting in a war that left more scars than deaths. It was _your_ side or _mine_. They couldn’t die, not without permission; the participants of the war took heavy advantage of the fact.

Even then the Lord had said nothing, instead unreadably silent as She watched Her creations duke it out to find their own version of peace. 

Ron had moaned and groaned, but put on his armour anyway.

Younger than Earth, Harry was dragged into leadership with his round ears flattened against his skull from peer pressure. He’d earned his share of scars aplenty, stark on his tan torso and long across his back. One of the perks of being a First Sphere angel was that imperfections on their incorporeal forms healed to perfection, yet Harry had chosen to keep the scars gained from close calls that almost resulted in long healing slumbers.

Thin but jagged, the scar circled around his neck shaped like a collar was a morbid favourite. He wasn’t glad for the wars, no; the emotional and physical wounds he’d received then wasn’t something he’d want to experience ever again. He did however appreciate the experience, memories, _understandings,_ and friendships gained. 

Eternity was a long time to live. Too long, and perhaps the Lord knew this and thus choose the most abstract and oblique way of occupying everyone’s time with meaningful lessons in tow. Her choice of teaching wasn’t questionable, though, literally speaking. But the tactic of simply throwing one’s young off the cliff so they’d learn to fly had its appeals. 

Three wars over a million years. God wasn’t as perfect as humans liked to believe. Yet Her heavenly creations loved Her anyway. 

Harry wondered if he should do the same for Tom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy. Leave a Kudos and comment if you did! I love reading what you think.
> 
> Sorry I deleted the chapter. Made some edits.


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